Salsa
by WhisperToMeSoftly
Summary: “That Carla woman already tried this.” He found the thick Russian accent fascinating. It made him want to imitate it, use it in someway against Dr. Dorian…but that would have to wait. “I do not want to eat sandwich." -The Janitor finds a date. oneshot.


**AN: In the episode "My Scrubs", the Janitor asks Carla for three things in exchange for keeping her secret about Rowdy the stuffed dog: a pound of frankincense, salsa lessons, and to ask the anorexic nurse to 1) eat a sandwich and 2) go salsa dancing with him.**

**This is their story. :) **

"I can't DO this!"

The Janitor yelped, flailing his arms to keep his balance on the ladder. In a surge of desperation, he threw his arms around it, and glanced down at Carla. She stood there, hands on her hips, a sandwich in one hand.

"That was fast," he said with surprise. Carla glared.

"She won't eat the sandwich. I've tried _everything._ First I tried being nice. Then I tried being forceful. Then I tried being bitchy. Being bitchy always works, Mophead! Always! And she still wouldn't eat the damn sandwich!"

The Janitor pondered this for a moment, then stepped down. "Make it two pounds of frankincense," he ordered.

"Done," she snapped, shoving a wrapped BLT sandwich into his arms and walking away. "Be in room 202 by noon, or you get no salsa lesson."

The Janitor watched her go, then looked down at the sandwich in his hands. It was deceptively innocent, still haphazardly wrapped in wax paper that looked like it had wrapped several sandwiches before.

"Two pounds of frankincense," he muttered to himself gleefully. "I must be doing something terribly, terribly wrong."

-x-x-

"That Carla woman already tried this." He found the thick Russian accent fascinating. It made him want to imitate it, use it in someway against that Dr. Dorian…but that would have to wait. "I do not want to eat sandwich. Too much fat and carb."

"Ah, but look!" he said, with the air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. He set the sandwich down on the nurse's counter, unwrapped it, and gestured towards it. "Now you see the fat—" He whipped out the bacon, tossing it over his shoulder without a second glance. "—now you don't."

The girl stared at him, fascinated. Neither of them noticed a very confused—but nonetheless happy—Todd picking bacon out of his bandanna.

"Now you see the carbs—" The bread went flying over the heads of several nurses. "—now you don't! It's simple, see?"

The lettuce and tomato sat forlornly on the wax paper, and she stared at them hungrily. "So…no fat?"

"No fat."

"And no carb?"

"No carbs."

There was a moment of hesitation, then she pounced.

"I have never seen anyone eat vegetables so fast in my entire life," he told her bluntly when she straightened up. "You have a gift."

"Thank you," she said meekly, bowing her head slightly. "I never thought of taking bread off sandwich before."

He was really, really tempted to reply in a Russian accent. "Don't mention it," he said with a flap of a hand. "Will you go salsa dancing with me on Friday?"

She blinked. It took a long, long moment for her to finally choke out: "I'm sorry?"

"Salsa dancing. You know…" He gave her a little demonstration in the middle of the hallway. (Laverne noticed, then shielded her eyes and continued walking. Many of the other nurses followed her lead.) "Salsa dancing!"

She had placed a hand over her mouth in shock—as he spoke again, she lowered it slowly, and stared at him unblinkingly. "Salsa dancing?"

He moved back to his previous position, leaning casually against the counter. "Salsa dancing."

She continued to stare for a moment. He felt a bit of worry cloud his thoughts: what if she said no? What if she just thanked him for the sandwich and walked away? _Well, there's always the frankincense, I suppose…_

"Yes."

He blinked. "Really?"

She smiled a little bit. "Really."

-x-x-

_Day 1_

It hadn't taken him long to choose which nurse he wanted to dance with. She was the only one who didn't give him a wide berth whenever he walked the hallways, didn't give him wary looks whenever he walked up to the nurse's counter, didn't say "Not today" whenever he opened his mouth in her presence.

She wasn't very pretty, though, which presented somewhat of a problem. She was skinny in a sickly, pale way. She had large blue eyes in a face that looked too small for them, and thin blonde hair that he would have called 'thinning' if she was older than 35: which she most definitely wasn't.

She wasn't dressed for salsa dancing when they entered the salsa bar.

Then again, neither was he.

"Are you sure you should be wearing your uniform here?" she asked, looking up at him.

He shrugged. "I don't have any other clothes."

"Oh. That make sense."

Thirty minutes later, after trying and failing to communicate with the Mexican waiter (who, unfortunately, did not speak English, Russian, Sign Language, Polish, or Urdu), they finally managed to steal a table, guacamole, and chips.

"Shame he didn't speak Urdu," The Janitor muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "I always wanted to find someone else who did."

She wasn't listening—instead, she was staring at the bowl of guacamole. "What is this…green?" she asked, pointing.

"Guacamole!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands. "It's made from avocados. They have absolutely no fat, and they're used in many diet plans to help people lose weight!"

A moment's hesitation…then she pounced.

The Janitor smiled.

_Day 2_

Carla graciously made them a cardboard sign: "Tabla, Guacamole, Virutas, Baile de la Salsa." The Mexican waiter glanced at it, then smiled at them and waved them in.

They went through two bowls of chips and guacamole without saying a word.

"I like this gwack-ah-mole-ay," she said, her mouth full of chips.

"So do I," he replied happily, plopping a giant pile of guac on a single tortilla chip. "It's wonderful stuff, isn't it?"

One more bowl of guacamole, and they both sat back with a sigh.

"Are we going to salsa?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You said that, didn't you?"

He smirked. "Oh yes, we're going to salsa."

_Day 3_

"I can not believe this has no fat!" she squealed. The Janitor smiled, pushing the salsa bowl closer to her. She moaned with happiness.

"Yup," he said without hesitation, well-aware that he was utterly lying. "No carbs in that, either. Completely healthy."

She didn't reply; her mouth was already stuffed with a combination of salsa, chips, and guacamole. He liked seeing her like this, eager and bright-eyed. She didn't seem as shy, or as meek.

Once she swallowed, she threw her arms up and exclaimed, "I love the Mexicans!"

_Day 6_

"I need to tell you a secret," she whispered earnestly, leaning forward. He leaned forward too, the guacamole forgotten between them. She looked around once, checking to see if anyone was near, then hissed: "I do not know how to salsa."

He had been hoping for that—but he tried not to let his glee show. "I can teach you," he hissed back soberly.

"Can you?" she asked, wide-eyed. He nodded—then he stood, and offered her his hand.

"The key to the salsa is passion…"

_Day 10_

"I think I am better than you!"

He gasped. "How cruel! You are not!"

She laughed, her thin hair now messy around her pale face. Couples were whirling around them, moving swiftly and smoothly across the floor. They moved at a slightly more awkward pace, but kept up with the crowd as it moved in a circular motion.

"You are off beat," she chided. "Onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour—"

"Maybe you are better than me," he muttered, trying to make his feet keep up with her stream of numbers.

"I know," she said, in a very satisfied tone. "Don't forget—" She leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

"—the secret is passion."

_Day 14_

As he mopped past her, she suddenly turned, leaning against the counter. "I think you try to make me fat," she said accusingly.

He looked up in mock horror. "I would never!"

She lifted her chin. "The salsa and the guacamole have fat and carbs, don't they?"

He stared at her for a moment…then smirked. "Do you want me to say no?"

She hesitated for a moment, looking like she was desperately trying to keep herself from saying something. But finally she burst out: "Yes."

"No. They don't."

_Day 23_

"What is this?"

"Frankincense," he said happily, pouring out the bag on to her bedroom floor. She picked up a clump of it, studying it with squinted eyes.

"What does it do?"

He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I'm not quite sure. But I think it involves burning things."

She sniffed it delicately. "Does it have carbs?"

He quickly snatched it out of her hands. "Yes. Lots. No eating the frankincense."

_Day 32_

"I dare you," she said, hanging upside down off the edge of her bed to look at him.

He had been lying on the floor facing away from her—he tilted his head backwards to meet her gaze, both upside-down. "Dare me to do what?"

A mischievousness he had not seen in her before lit her expression.

"Wear Mexican clothes."

He smirked. "Only if you do it with me."

_Day 33_

The restaurant was dark and heavy with the scent of fried food. They waited in line to be seated (he noticed, as he rested his arm around her waist, that she wasn't as skinny as she once was), ate their guacamole and salsa, and immediately rushed to the dance floor to dive into the sea of swirling, dancing people.

He wore a woven poncho, the colors of which should never be mixed together in any piece of clothing, and a pair of brown gauchos that _swish_ed around his hairy calves as he danced. She wore a sombrero that he had picked out for her, along with an ugly brown dress that had a tacky Mexican flag embroidered on the bodice.

But as they danced, they barely noticed what the other was wearing.

_Day 41_

She managed to get him into one of her father's suits. He got her a beautiful red dress (but had no intention of EVER telling her how he had gotten it).

They walked through the darkened city to the large building, hearing salsa music even from four blocks away. As soon as they walked in, it hit them like a heavy wave of sound, crashing down on them before washing away.

They didn't even have to speak. They simply made their way on to the dance floor, surrounded by the music and people dancing just as much as they were. But they didn't notice.

He went to the bar to ask for some salsa and guacamole. She walked away to find a bathroom. As she did, she heard a man behind her ask: "Hey, is that hot girl yours?"

And she heard the janitor reply firmly with a little bit of pride: "Yes, as a matter of fact, she is. Bartender! A little guacamole over here? Salsa? Virutas?"

She ducked her head with a soft smile. Salsa just seemed to have a way of making life spicier.


End file.
